


What Really Matters

by Abyssiniana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied Sheith, Keith don't care, Lance Struggles, M/M, Pining, Secret Santa, allurance, hunk is supportive, your average Christmas love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 17:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21275303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana
Summary: Lance had a problem.Not like the Astrophysics holiday homework, which still laid unsolved on top of his desk and would remain that way until the very last day of Christmas break, as per usual. This was a serious issue, an urgent matter which scorched his gut, twisted it in knots; fear and utter despair that made his heart twinge and his knees tremble.In his cold hand (he really should have worn gloves to the cul-de-sac meeting), he held a piece of paper; not just any piece of paper either, though it had been carelessly ripped from a common A4 sheet. Like every single one of the other attendants, Lance had randomly drawn the paper from a little metal box, so it wasn’t like it was of superior quality, or cute, or anything but a plain white printing paper, made special and unique and somehow so beautiful by the sole reason that it held the most regal, enticing name to echo in his ears.Allura.___Piece I wrote for the last year'sVoltron Winter Zine,in which Lance struggles with his Secret Santa.





	What Really Matters

Lance had a problem.

Not like the Astrophysics holiday homework, which still laid unsolved on top of his desk and would remain that way until the very last day of Christmas break, as per usual. This was a  _ serious _ issue, an urgent matter which scorched his gut, twisted it in knots; fear and utter despair that made his heart twinge and his knees tremble.

In his cold hand (he really should have worn gloves to the cul-de-sac meeting), he held a piece of paper; not just any piece of paper either, though it had been carelessly ripped from a common A4 sheet. Like every single one of the other attendants, Lance had randomly drawn the paper from a little metal box, so it wasn’t like it was of superior quality, or  _ cute _ , or anything but a plain white printing paper, made special and unique and somehow so beautiful by the sole reason that it held the most regal, enticing name to echo in his ears.

_ Allura. _

But  _ that _ was the problem, yes, the problem was that Allura was the person he was supposed to gift for their little neighborhood’s Secret Santa.

_ Daunting. Absolutely terrifying, spine-chilling, bloodcurdling. _

“Alright, everyone!” Thick accent - either Australian or maybe from outer space - rolled out of Allura’s mouth as she spoke to the little gathering at her garage. Because, of course, her family was the one with the motivation to organize these types of conjoint events to create bonds within their little neighborhood, like Easter lunch with everyone and Summer barbeques and the big parties whenever a kid’s birthday came up. “You all know the rules! Your giftee is a secret you keep to yourselves until the gifting time comes. The gift exchange party will happen on December 23rd! Until then!”

That gave Lance a week - a total of seven days, hundred and sixty some hours - to come up with the perfect present for the woman of his unattainable dreams.

In groups, the neighbours left the garage; his large family was the first to return home, followed by the Koganes (a hard-working dad, hot mum and annoying son about the same age as Lance), Shiro (who lived alone with his black cat unironically named  _ Black _ ), the Holts (loving family with two kids, who might as well be twins if not for the age difference), and finally, the Garretts. Lance’s best friend Hunk was the eldest son of that family, and the one he currently needed.

“Woa-aah, man!” Hunk complained when Lance shoved him to the side, thin arm around wide shoulders. “What’s with you?”

“I need help.”

“Nu-uh. That’s cheating. I can’t know who you’re--”

“But it’s  _ her _ , Hunk!! Of all people, I drew  _ her _ name!” Lance gestured frantically, as he tried to keep the volume of his voice to a minimum; from the point of view of an outsider, he must have looked ridiculous.

“Oh man…” Hunk huffed as he scratched the back of his head, eyebrow quirking with pity and understanding, and then sharpening into a tiny smirk. “Heh, so that’s like as if you’re destined to each other, right?”

Oh, Lance wished the stars had conspired to allow him the honor of being tied to Allura in the metaphysic plane of destiny. 

“C’mon, Hunk, this is serious!”

“This might be your shot, though, no? I mean, if you like her, then buy her something nice, swing along to the holiday spirit and try to sneak a mistletoe above your heads and  _ oh Allura the truth is I love you _ and then she’ll be like  _ oh Lônce, I never knew, but all I ever wanted for Christmas was you _ \--”

“Stop!!” Lance slapped Hunk’s side, a frown adorning his flustered face. It would be amazing if it could be that easy, but he knew he wouldn’t be taken seriously. Not with Allura. She was… so exceptional. So astonishing. Far too much sand for Lance’s poor little toy truck. If he were to confess his feelings he was bound to humiliate himself, even more so if he were to do it at the Christmas party, in front of everyone--

“Two minutes in and you already shared the one thing you’re not supposed to tell anyone.” Keith Kogane, unamused, stared at both Lance and Hunk with his hands in his pockets, shaking his head in disapproval. “Wouldn’t expect otherwise from a loudmouth. Why don’t you write Allura’s name in your forehead to announce it to everyone at once?”

Where had he come from?! Sneaky bastard. Lance crossed his arms defensively.

“Go to hell, Keith! Did you come back here just to tease me?”

“Don’t think that highly of yourself.” Keith entered the now empty garage to pick up a forgotten scarf in one of the chairs, which Lance was sure to belong to Shiro. It took a little bit more of mental Math than Lance was willing to make to understand why Keith had been the one returning for it, but he ignored it for the sake of commanding his feet to turn back home and allow Hunk to do the same.

“Good luck with your princess.” He heard Hunk say over his shoulder, but he didn’t bother looking back.

* * *

That night, Lance didn’t sleep.

The glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling of his bedroom were the protagonists of a little novella playing in his head; the fake constellations aggregated into the beautiful form of Allura, a stellar woman, worthy of cosmos and satellites and supernovas. He quickly lost interest in the little phosphorescent powder plastic stars when the silver of the moon caught its rival in front of a vanity mirror, beautiful locks being combed across the dead-end street.

Allura… she was a goddess, white hair cascading majestically down her back like the Niagara Falls as she combed it as she always did before bed, her skin naturally tanned by both heritage and the sun, her eyes stunningly bright, precious gemstones from the volcanic depths of the Earth. She was a nymph on land, a myth straight out of a Baroque painting, brush strokes made real every time she smiled through the canvas of her window.

Well, that made him look like a stalker, but it was God’s own fault to have plotted for the woman of his dreams to move to the vacant house right across his overcrowded home. It was one thing to spy her through his bedroom window, as he had done for years, but it was another to not tie knots in his throat when she asked something as simple as “how’s school?”. It didn’t help that her voice was as sweet as honey, syrup coating her words. How was he supposed to resist?

It tempted his little heart to pine over someone he could never have, but he had come to terms with it, really he had, it would have been just fine if her family (a royal family of sorts, with her regal dad and high chinned mother and eccentric uncle) wasn’t the type to host block parties - with letter invitations slipped into their mailboxes and all - to promote the bonding between neighbours. Those events forced their interaction and Lance had a little heart attack each time their eyes met.

Allura got up after doing her hair, her cute silk pyjama fitting her hourglass frame so perfectly; Lance saw her walk to her bedroom door to turn off the lights, much to his demise. With that he flopped back onto his bed, the fake stars capturing his interest again.

What should he give her for their Christmas exchange? A DIY gift? Heck no, that was tacky as hell. Candy? She loved sweet treats, he knew that for sure, but cookies had an expiration date, and his love did not. Clothes? Allura wore nothing short of  _ Gucci _ ,  _ Chanel _ or  _ Prada _ , there was no way he could afford a single sock from those high-end brands. Jewelry? That little Saturn pendant with a tiny diamond he had seen at a store in the mall would be perfect if his wallet wasn’t as flat as a pancake with its pitiful total of eight dollars and a few quarters.

Lance groaned into his pillow. Why did it all come down to the fact that Allura was used to shiny and flashy gifts he couldn’t give her? She had everything she could possibly want, and Lance’s funds could barely sustain him. Anything he could think of buying seemed to cheapen the meaning of the gift, diminish his feelings to his monetary power. She deserved all the sparkly pearls around her neck, all the luxurious fabrics adorning her goddess-like frame, trips around the world, expensive brunches every single day of the week, she should expect nothing less from anyone.

But Lance… well, as much as he wanted to give her the world, Lance was as broke as a stick horse.

* * *

The exchange party rolled in faster than a week normally did. Lance tried to pay attention to Hunk’s thorough explanation about each dish he and his mother had prepared for the feast, how Pidge held her tablet above her head, away from his nephews’ hands, and yelled “I HAVE NO GAMES INSTALLED, GET AWAY FROM ME YOU DEVILS” or how Shiro, nursing a glass of eggnog in his prosthetic hand, tended to restrain himself to a corner with Keith, laughing at their own private jokes.

He pulled in a deep breath. No use in delaying the inevitable.

“Hey… Allura?” Lance called out, arms crossed over his chest to hide as much of the ugly sweater his grandma knitted and forced him to wear as possible. He had politely signaled her to come closer, away from the crowd that happily gathered and ate around a big table set in Allura’s wide garage, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Of course!” She beamed beautifully, as he knew she would, adorable dimples carved on each corner of her full lips. They stepped just outside, winterized sneakers sinking into a pile of snow. The time had come; the others hadn’t shared their gifts yet but Lance supposed it was better this way, a more… private situation.

Allura - stunning, sublime, drop-dead gorgeous Allura - waited more patiently than Lance deserved to hear what he had to say.

“The truth is… I… I’m your Secret Santa,” he revealed, considering that he should probably dignify himself and look her in the eye for this. “And I… I didn’t get you anything… Not because I didn’t want to, I promise, it’s just-- it’s hard to think of something worthy of you, and I--”

Okay, that was it. Death by utter self-embarrassment in front of his crush. Lance’s Christmas present to the whole world would be ridding it of his shameful, puny existence. He couldn’t even breathe, his nose all clogged up with the beginning of a cold as well as an extensive blood rush, face all red and eyes becoming watery. He was glad that his hands were hidden from sight, in the warmth of his armpits, because they were shaking like crazy.

“Lance, that’s perfectly okay.”

“No, Allura--” Of course she would say something like that; she wouldn’t be mad, that wasn’t in her nature at all. “It’s really  _ not _ okay, I know you’re just being nice so I won’t feel bad, but the truth is you deserve the world! All the gifts! All the clothes and scarves and necklaces and pretty bracelets, but I couldn’t decide what to get you, and I don’t have much money and--”

“Actually…” She slipped her hand inside the back pocket of her tight jeans, bringing out a folded paper, similar to the one Lance had drawn out of a tin box, just a week before. She unfolded it without hesitating and showed it to him, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his name. “I’m your Secret Santa as well.”

“Oh…”  _ No no no _ , that made things a hundred times worse; there was nothing more awkward than receiving a gift and give nothing in return. Oh Lord, he couldn’t breathe.

“Here’s my present to you.” She said, putting the paper back where it had been retrieved from. Lance couldn’t deal with this, he felt like curling up in a ball and dying, or dig a hole through the snow and hibernate for a couple centuries until all of mankind died out so that he could be the only one dealing with his own humiliation. 

“No, I can’t accept it, not when I didn’t get you one--” He was hushed by a gesture, obeying the pointing finger over her lips as if she had cast a spell. Which she certainly must have, because everything around them gained the blurry quality of a hazy dream, his heart drumming a bit too fast against his ribcage, threatening to rip through it and be exposed to the chilly December air. Allura leaned in, any concept of personal space buried in the snow underneath them, which melted instantly at the heat of the contact between her lips and his.

Were they kissing? So it seemed. He could pinpoint the exact moment when his soul left his body, onwards to an afterlife adventure without the nuisance of a physical body. Lance’s obituary would read “Lance McClain: Gone too soon, but also not soon enough. Death by the most tender Christmas kiss under no mistletoe.”

“With that, I got my gift as well.” She playfully giggled, a magical sound just before the world unfroze and Lance was able to follow her back to the party, guided by her hand in his.

_ Christmas miracles are a thing, after all, _ Lance mused, and suddenly the cinnamon biscuits he picked up from the vast culinary offer in the table tasted much sweeter around his tongue.


End file.
